


where fireflies never die

by deusreks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Oikawa is a mangaka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5613304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deusreks/pseuds/deusreks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>>>Oikawa: <i>Hey Iwa-chan</i><br/>>>Oikawa: <i>Did I ruin it?</i><br/></p>
</blockquote><br/>Their last summer of high school, Oikawa and Iwaizumi find fireflies in a cave.
            </blockquote>





	where fireflies never die

**Author's Note:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPfUIy90LMg) song helped a lot while I was writing.

_Today is the day._

The thought forms in Iwaizumi Hajime’s mind while his eyes are still veiled by his eyelids. He lies in bed, inhaling the stale, cold air of his apartment, and waits until the alarm clock rings. Once it does, he kicks the covers off himself and they flutter on the ground gracelessly. Opening the curtains is always a bad idea, but he does it religiously every morning, and welcomes the sun even if it offends his drowsy eyes. From the window, he swings a glance in the direction of his bookshelf, down by the TV.

It’s not a bookshelf one might see in a fervent reader, wailing under the weight of neatly arranged books of various sizes and genres, but Iwaizumi isn’t a fervent reader anyway so it doesn’t matter. Next to the textbooks, that are way overdue in the university’s library, is a line of 9 manga volumes. The spine of each manga volume has been broken so many times that the morning light makes their wounds look painful, even if Iwaizumi held them with nothing but love. One gaping hole, the size of a single manga volume, is aching to be filled.

_And today is the day._

The thought stays with him as he brushes his teeth, washes his face, runs his hand through his hair and calls it ‘combing’, eats a burnt piece of toast, and runs out of his apartment with a torn, brown bag slung over his shoulder.

 

 

**_SUMMER, 3 YEARS AGO_ **

_What little sun rays find their way through thick leaves overhead form a crown around Oikawa’s head. Iwaizumi chases after him through the woods, summer heat thick on his skin. The shadows of trees stand frozen; no breeze combs their branches. The back of Oikawa’s shirt is wet with sweat and stuck to his back, his shoulder blades prominent against the fabric. Oikawa’s shorts dance around his thighs and Iwaizumi follows their flutter. Iwaizumi’s best friend always runs with the grace of an antelope.  
_

_Iwaizumi can’t tell if his throat is dry because Oikawa makes running through hell look like a dream, or because all that running after Oikawa_ is _the reason he is in hell._

_“Hey Shittykawa! Slow down.”_

_“C’mon, Iwa-chan! Don’t you want to spend your last summer of high school chasing adventures?” Oikawa’s sing-song voice cuts through the ancient silence of the trees around them. Iwaizumi almost feels bad for raising his voice._

_“No, I want—” Iwaizumi pauses, breathes through his nose before he can continue. “I want to spend it in front of a fan.”_

_“Bo~ring!”_

_“Because a heatstroke is_ so _much more fun!”_

_Oikawa laughs. Everything is funny to him when he runs, Iwaizumi hot on his heels, his feet heavy and loud against Oikawa’s elegant and precise steps. Iwaizumi pushes himself, makes one final leap before the lack of warm-up cuts the air from his lungs, and grabs Oikawa’s wrist. The weight of Iwaizumi’s grip pushes Oikawa back and he stumbles before he regains his ground._

_They breathe heavily, in eerie unison, until Iwaizumi finds his throat is ready to form words again. “Is this about what your mother said?”_

_“No,” Oikawa’s answer is immediate. His eyes dart around the dense forest around them, avoiding meeting Iwaizumi’s. “Oh, I think we’re lost. Which way did we come from?”_

_“You better be joking.”_

_Oikawa makes a show of looking around. His hair is sticking every which way, humidity doing what Oikawa could never accomplish with a brush and a mirror. His eyes are wide and brown, sweat caressing his furrowed brow. Then his mouth opens around a victorious ‘_ ah _’._

_“This way,” is Oikawa’s verdict as he takes Iwaizumi by the wrist and pulls him along. Iwaizumi welcomes a little walking for a change. After a while, it becomes obvious this isn’t the way they’ve come through._

_The forest closes in on them and Oikawa’s fingers fasten their grip on Iwaizumi’s wrist. Iwaizumi’s skin prickles at the casual touch. Oikawa stops abruptly and it takes all Iwaizumi has not to bump into him and prove he’s been spacing out over something Oikawa does on a regular basis. In front of them is a cave, mouth a gaping, dark hole. In its throat, something sparkles, like a myriad of stars trapped in the darkness._

_Oikawa stares at the cave for a heartbeat and then makes for the entrance._

 

 

The streets of Tokyo are brimming with the promise of spring, the scent of it light and breezy but not yet in full bloom. Iwaizumi makes haste even if his watch tells him that he can afford to take a small detour and still make it for class with full ten minutes to spare. Iwaizumi crosses the street and pushes the doors of the bookstore open, the smell of unopened books and manga suffusing the air. He knows where the new arrivals are, the only section he ever visits when the time comes, and there he finds what he’s been waiting for.

Numerous copies of Volume Ten of _Where Fireflies Never Die_ sit atop one another, sorted with care _._ Iwaizumi picks one up from the pile, careful as if his touch alone could damage it, and takes it to the cashiers’. Kozume Kenma looks up at him through cat-like, yellow eyes as if he’s been ready to ring him up the moment he’s walked through the door.

“Did you read it?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kozume gives a slight nod of his head. Everything he does is slight and subtle, nothing like–

“I admire your ability to not read any chapters until the whole volume is out, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, attempted nonchalance that weights heavy and fake on his shoulders. “Chapters are too short.”

Once the volume is paid for, Iwaizumi deposits it in his bag. The bag feels as if it’s been filled with rocks. He’s is aware of its presence like an anchor around his neck and he hopes, as he makes way to the first class of the day, that nobody can tell how much it brings him down.

 

 

**_SUMMER, 3 YEARS AGO_ **

_“Has this cave always been here?”_

_“How should_ I _know?”_

_The darkness of the cave swallows them, along with the sound and smell of summer in the forest behind them, and they follow the flicker of light in front of them. The walls are sweating, the air growing colder, freezing perspiration on their skin. Oikawa fearlessly walks onward and Iwaizumi can imagine how the soft glow in the distance reflects in Oikawa’s hungry eyes. Iwaizumi knows how dangerous determination can be in the hands of someone like Oikawa, who carries both the curiosity and fragility of a prodigal child._

_“_ Fireflies _,” Oikawa breathes in awe once they’ve reached the stone wall that marks the end of the cave. Here, indeed, fireflies vibrate around each other in wide circles, taking turns to illuminate each wall. Iwaizumi finds he’s a little breathless with the miracle of it, too. Oikawa lets go of his wrist and Iwaizumi touches the skin there, feeling the absence of Oikawa’s fingers._

_Oikawa presses his palm to the wet wall of the cave. His expression turns wild with wonder. “Iwa-chan. The wall is dry.” The light of fireflies caresses Oikawa’s face, softening the pert curve of his nose and parting of his lips. Iwaizumi puts his palm to the wall as well._

_“It’s dry,” Iwaizumi says. “It looks wet.”_

_Oikawa’s expression turns glassy, his lips quivering around words. “I need chalk, I need—”_

_One firefly breaks away from others and lands on the tip of his nose, casting a neon green light in the murky depths of his eyes. Oikawa stops talking and, Iwaizumi presumes with a smirk, that the firefly has accomplished its goal._

_“I want to mark these walls,” Oikawa says._

_Iwaizumi sighs. “What makes you think we’ll find this cave again once we leave?”_

_“It was our destiny to find it once, we’ll find it again.”_

_“_ Destiny _,” Iwaizumi scoffs._

_Oikawa puts his finger to the tip of his nose and the firefly safely descends on it, as if it trusts Oikawa and his soft, slender finger with its life. _“_ Do you hear this, Firefly-chan? Iwa-chan is making fun of our destiny.”_

 

 

Iwaizumi goes through the motions until classes are over. He massages his shoulder as he walks down the busy streets, about to take another detour. His destination is a small, corner flower shop. Its owner, a lady in clothes as black as her long, silky hair, is lining up pots on shelves when Iwaizumi mouths a greeting her way. She turns to him, smiles politely and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Iwaizumi-san,” she says. “The same as usual?”

“Yes, please.”

Shimizu Kiyoko prepares red carnations which she begins to assemble in a beautiful bouquet. Her hands work their magic with care and precision. Iwaizumi often wonders what happens to the bouquet once he sends it. Shimizu makes a story with each new flower she puts in the arrangement. Iwaizumi can’t imagine anyone doing anything with the bouquet but worship until the flowers quietly wither away.

“Have you read it?” Her question pulls Iwaizumi out of his head and back into a room of glass and greenery.

“No, not yet.”

“Me neither. Didn’t even have time to buy it. But I’m looking forward to seeing how the story ends.”

“Me too.”

No other words pass between them until she’s finished with the bouquet. It’s a wonder of red and care that takes both of her hands to hold.

“I’ll have it delivered to him tonight,” she says, and for a moment, Iwaizumi envies those flowers.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Iwaizumi pays for the bouquet and Shimizu walks him out of the shop. Murky clouds mingle in the sky and, as dusk descends over the city, Iwaizumi finds his way home.

 

 

**_SUMMER, 3 YEARS AGO_ **

_Oikawa bursts out of his house, a box of colorful chalks in his hands, and slams the door theatrically behind him. He slips on a mask of perfection and calmness that sits so naturally on his face as if it’s been a part of it since the day he was born. Everything he doesn’t want to talk about, he leaves behind the front doors of his house. Iwaizumi doesn’t have to ask to know what Oikawa’s running away from, but he often wishes Oikawa would tell him anyway._

_Iwaizumi doesn’t believe in destiny. How could he when it’s been cruel to him for so many years, dangling what he wants in front of his eyes, not once allowing for a sliver of hope that he could actually have it. But_ this _destiny is inclined to feed Oikawa’s whims. They find the cave faster than they did yesterday. It’s as if the entire forest has opened up to show them the way._

_Oikawa perambulates inside as if he owns it. He greets the fireflies, and for reasons unknown, names some of them even though they all look the same to Iwaizumi. Finally, Oikawa sits in front of the back wall of the cave, a few fireflies already breaking away from their friends to form a crown around Oikawa’s head. Iwaizumi suffocates with the realization that this cave might as well be_ their _little secret, an oasis nobody needs to know about._

_Iwaizumi clears his throat and pulls out his phone. “Hey, it’s three-forty-four. I’m not staying here past seven.”_

_“Sure,” comes Oikawa’s absent-minded reply._

_“I’m setting an alarm.”_

_“Sure.”_

_This is how Iwaizumi knows he’s lost him. Iwaizumi puts his phone back in the roomy pocket of his shorts and slides down the wall. The ground looks wet but it’s dry and warm, just like the walls. The cave is mysterious and filled with contradictions, and now the biggest of all mysteries and contradictions is scrawling on the wall of it with chalk._

_Iwaizumi doesn’t know what Oikawa is drawing, but then again, he never does until it’s finished. Oikawa’s focus stirs the darkness around him, willing fireflies to gather around him and light the strokes of his hand._

_“What did your mother say this time?” Iwaizumi asks. It’s a shot in the dark, but usually, Oikawa is more pliant when he’s drawing. Less walls guard his mind._

_“_ ’Tooru, your genius is not to be wasted on a hobby!’” _Oikawa does a poor imitation of his mother’s voice. “I concur that I’m a genius, but not that I’m wasting it by doing what I’m good at.”_

_“She’ll come around,” Iwaizumi offers._

_“I won’t hold my breath.” Oikawa’s voice is like steel, molded during million times he shut the doors as he ran out of his house._

_Silence creeps into the cave, interrupted only by scraping of the chalk against the wall. Iwaizumi scoots closer to take a better look at Oikawa’s drawing. So far, he’s only drawn a sky full of fireflies, like ones that fly around them like scattered stardust. One of them lands on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, and he hates to admit it, he feels loved by that tiny source of light._

_“They seem to like me when I’m close to you,” Iwaizumi murmurs._

_“Stay close, then.”_

_Oikawa says it so simply, his voice carrying but a hint of distrait, like he’s answering to a question Iwaizumi hasn’t asked yet._

_And for the first time ever, with no words crossing his lips in that dim cave, Iwaizumi allows himself to love Oikawa like one shouldn’t love their best friend. The admission is so soft that Iwaizumi almost misses how it sinks into his heart like a rose with thorns instead of petals. His heart bleeds without making a sound.  
_

 

 

Iwaizumi has waited for hours, so he opts to wait for one more. He lays _Where Fireflies Never Die_ on his bed and takes a long shower, reveling in hot droplets that un-knot the tension in his muscles. After the shower, he puts together haphazard dinner consisting of leftovers from previous days. He eats at his leisure, his eyes running to meet the manga volume on the bed.

The plan was to wash the dishes too but he ends up leaving them in the sink in order to jump into his pajama and lie in bed, manga on his thighs. He runs his palm over the cover art – it’s the exact same drawing that is, Iwaizumi hopes, still on the walls of that cave. A sky of fireflies hangs over two boys who are huddled next to each other. One is sleeping, his head leaning on the other boys’ shoulder, and the other is reading a book with a subtle frown carved low on his forehead. They look more at home than Iwaizumi remembers.

With his heart about to drop out of his chest, Iwaizumi flips the pages open and begins to read.

 

 

**_SUMMER, 3 YEARS AGO_ **

_“Iwa-chan, move.” Oikawa pouts as he attempts to push Iwaizumi away._

_“No, not until you re-draw me.” Iwaizumi’s arms are crossed over his chest, his feet tucked under his thighs as he sits with his back to the wall. “My forehead is_ not _that high!”_

_“But Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines and tugs at Iwaizumi’s bicep. “Your forehead is wonderful in all its highness! Your Highness, The Forehead!” Oikawa looks ready to high-five himself for that remark. Iwaizumi decides he’ll kick him if he does._

_“No.”_

_“Iwa-chan, don’t make me resort to desperate measures!” Oikawa warns. He leans forward, one of his hands on Iwaizumi’s knee and the other dangling the chalk in a threatening fashion. Iwaizumi leans back until his head hits the wall.  
_

_One firefly flies between them, but they don’t break eye contact. Their faces alternate between being illuminated by fireflies and drowning in darkness. Iwaizumi catches the sight of Oikawa’s throat bobbing when he swallows and it makes him nervous. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says and leans in to press a quick kiss on Iwaizumi’s forehead. “I like your high forehead.”_

_Iwaizumi has nowhere to go and he doesn’t have time to figure out how to become one with the stone wall. “I will kick you.” His tone lacks its usual bite.  
_

_Oikawa is so close, their noses almost touching, but not yet. Oikawa is fearless and ethereal as if the cave itself gave birth to him. For a split second, his expression crumbles and reveals innocence that he’s been trying to cast aside. Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker on Oikawa’s lips when the light slides off his face. He thinks about kissing parts of Oikawa he never shows to anyone._

_Oikawa picks the pieces of the mask up and glues them back together, as if nothing’s happened. Then he grins and says: “Iwa-chan, you look like you want to kiss me.”_

_Iwaizumi is tired of running. “What if I do?” Oikawa’s hand twitches on his knee._

_“I might just close my eyes.” The way Oikawa’s eyelids flutter undoes Iwaizumi. If the cave is making him hallucinate, he might just grow to love its luminous tricks._

_Iwaizumi takes the chance despite the risk and puts his palms on either side of Oikawa’s face, like he’s done many times before to headbutt him. This time around, he brings their lips together to the deafening drumming of his heart. Oikawa stays still and pliant, so unlike himself that, for a while, Iwaizumi doesn’t move his lips, merely keeps them pressed to Oikawa’s._

_When Oikawa sighs against Iwaizumi’s lips, the silence between them breaks in half. Iwaizumi kisses him like this is his only chance in his lifetime to do so. Oikawa’s hand finds his chest and he presses harder into the kiss. Iwaizumi’s glad he’s never imagined this because no amount of daydreaming could’ve prepared him for this moment, all of Oikawa against him. Oikawa’s sweet, summer smell; Oikawa’s insistent lips; Oikawa’s wandering hand. Iwaizumi pushes his fingers into Oikawa’s hair and drags them through perfectly-styled strands that he’s always wanted to ruin. This does things to Oikawa, Iwaizumi feels him tremble against his thighs._

_The last thing Iwaizumi hears is the hollow sound of chalk as it hits the ground right before Oikawa climbs into his lap.  
_

 

 

The story resonates with Iwaizumi’s memories, familiar until he reaches the last chapter. This is the part he hasn’t lived, because it never happened. This is the ending that the person Iwaizumi trusts the most has written without him. Will this story have a happy ending, like Iwaizumi wants? Or will it be dipped in cruel reality of three years without a word spoken?

Iwaizumi turns the first page of the last chapter.

 

 

 

**_SUMMER, 3 YEARS AGO_ **

_Iwaizumi avoids Oikawa for two days. He says he has to help around the house when the truth is that he sits in front of the fan to cool the lips that have yet to cease burning. On the third day, Oikawa comes to pick him up and doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer._

_That day, Oikawa works on his masterpiece in silence, his back to Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi is no longer bothered by the high forehead of himself on the cave’s wall because that’s where Oikawa had pressed his back when they kissed.  
_

_Iwaizumi’s eyes lazily drag around the cave, following the movement of fireflies. It’s been on his mind for a while, but he’s never seen dead fireflies inside the cave and their number doesn’t dwindle, almost as if the cave feeds on their light and in turn, gives them life._

_“Do you think the fireflies are talking about us?” Oikawa asks at one point. He’s stopped drawing to work off the crick in his neck by rolling it left and right._

_“Why would they talk about us?”_

_“Why not? They’re doing that light thing,” Oikawa supplements his statement by rapidly opening and closing his palm. “They’re communicating.”_

_“Your head is full of useless crap, isn’t it?”_

_“I know useless crap so you don’t have to, Iwa-chan. Be grateful!”_

_Iwaizumi bites the inside of his cheek. Oikawa hasn’t met his eyes once today. Does he think Iwaizumi will be hurt by what he finds there?_

_“Hey, Oikawa,” he says. “Are we not going to talk about—_ it _?” Iwaizumi almost spits the word out; he doesn’t like referring to the kiss they shared as ‘it’. The word hangs on his tongue, not real enough yet too real at the same time._

_Oikawa picks the chalk up again and continues drawing. “When you weren’t here yesterday, I caught a bunch of fireflies in a jar. I even poked holes on the cap so they could breathe. But the moment I brought them outside the cave, they dropped dead. Every single one of them. ”_

_Iwaizumi scoffs, air bitter in his throat. That’s a roundabout way to say it, but he understands the message, feels his heart harden around it. He blinks the burn out of his eyes and rests his head against the wall of the cave. He watches Oikawa’s shoulder blades move when he lifts his hand to add another detail to his picture. More fireflies gather around him, hungry for his invisible light. Iwaizumi envies._

_“Hey, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s tone is a pitch lower than his usual bubbly one._

_“Hm?”_

_“When we graduate, will you help me carry my bags to the train station?”_

_“Of course.”_

 

Iwazumi leaves the manga on the nightstand, the bittersweet ending still crawling down his spine. Some things were lost, others regained. The two main characters could never find the cave of fireflies again, but they rediscovered each other and that counted as enough. Iwaizumi closes his eyes and relaxes into the darkness. No shy lights flicker on the inky sky of his eyelids. He falls into dreamless sleep.

His sleep is so thick that he never hears a single persistent ping of his phone. When he wakes up, a number of messages light up the screen, all from a number he’s kept but didn’t dial once.

>> **Oikawa** : _Thank you for the flowers_

>> **Oikawa** : _Did you like the ending?_

>> **Oikawa** : _I want to see you_

>> **Oikawa** : _Does that make me selfish?_

>> **Oikawa** : _I kept you waiting until I was ready_

>> **Oikawa** : _What about you?_

>> **Oikawa** : _What am I saying? You were ready the whole time_

>> **Oikawa** : _I’m sorry_

>> **Oikawa** : _Hey Iwa-chan_

>> **Oikawa** : _Did I ruin it?_

Iwaizumi re-reads the avalanche of messages and stops to wonder if he’s still dreaming. Fingers trembling, from cold or fear or both, he types and deletes his reply ten times before he settles for the simplest version.

>> **Me** : _Does 5pm tomorrow work for you?_

The response is immediate, as if Oikawa’s been waiting the whole night.

>> **Oikawa** : _Yes_

>> **Oikawa** : _You know where to find me_

And then:

>> **Oikawa** : _Thank you_

Iwaizumi, loyal to his spotless attendance, sits through all his classes with but a minor nausea washing over his stomach whenever he thinks of Oikawa, waiting for him in an apartment Iwaizumi has never been in. Iwaizumi doesn’t imagine how the apartment looks like; he knows Oikawa will find a way to thwart every image he conjures.

Time is lenient with him today and classes pass in the blink of an eye. Iwaizumi makes his way to Oikawa, fingers clutching around the strap of his bag as if that single piece of leather will keep him grounded in reality. Oikawa’s building is defiant and tears the sky as mercilessly as Oikawa’s nose does when he doesn’t get what he wants but is sick with resolution to get it anyway.

Iwaizumi takes the elevator to the fourth floor and finds the apartment at the end of the hall. ‘ _Oikawa Tooru’_ , says on a silver plate. He knocks once and the doors swing open with impossible speed. No ordinary human should be capable of performing this feat between a single knock, but then again, Oikawa Tooru is anything but ordinary, even with a blanket wrapped around his slender shoulders and his glasses slightly askew atop his perfect nose. His chocolate eyes are blown wide with Iwaizumi’s murky reflection.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes. The nickname rolls off his tongue as smooth as Iwaizumi remembers. Oikawa steps aside, allowing Iwaizumi to enter.

The inside of Oikawa’s apartment is ridden by the sharp smell of ink mingling with the smell of flowers that have been neatly arranged near the entrance. Iwaizumi catches a few of the cards saying “ _Congratulations, Sensei_.”

Oikawa leads him into, what Iwaizumi presumes, is his drawing center. A couple of desks, scattered with g-pens, inks and other tools Iwaizumi can’t name, are clinging to each wall of the room. In the middle of the room is a _chabudai_. On that short-legged table sits a vase with a bouquet of flowers Iwaizumi recognizes as the one he’s paid for. Iwaizumi can’t help the weak tug on his lips.

“Are you hungry?” Oikawa asks when Iwaizumi sits on a cushion by the table. “I got tons of gifts. Or would you like some tea?” Oikawa’s voice wavers but Iwaizumi pretends he doesn’t hear it.

Iwaizumi clears his own throat before he speaks. “Tea is fine.”

Oikawa keeps his back to him until he’s finished preparing tea. He comes to sit across the table from him. The steam drifts upwards from his cup so Oikawa removes his glasses and sets them aside. Their legs don’t touch under the small table.

Iwaizumi takes a sip of the tea. It’s so hot on his tongue that Iwaizumi barely feels its taste. He steals glances at Oikawa and names tiny details about him that’d stayed the same: the dark skin under his eyes caused by obsession and dedication, the keenness of his eyes and the pink of his lips and cheeks.

Some things have changed: Oikawa’s hair is mussed beyond recognition and his fingers are smeared with stubborn black ink.

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to take the first word so he waits. He waits until Oikawa realizes that he’s waiting.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, at long last. “Look up.”

Iwaizumi, half-curious and half-terrified, looks up. He puts his cup down and feasts on the sight: hundreds of fireflies are scattered on the ceiling, caught in black ink. When Iwaizumi looks back at Oikawa, Oikawa is beaming. His blanket has slipped off his left shoulder.

At that very moment, Iwaizumi lets go. For years he’s been clutching at his chest, supporting with silence and flowers and respect for Oikawa’s need for space. Iwaizumi’s relief comes out with a chuckle. “Congratulations, Oikawa.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa says. There’s a smile in his words too.

“How did you know it was me who’s sent you these flowers?”

“I’ve asked and your flower lady told me about a particular broad-shouldered man with a stubborn frown on his _high_ forehead.”

“ _This_ again,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

“Iwa-chan, you are my sun,” Oikawa says. Iwaizumi searches his face for signs of ridicule, but his lips are still toying with a gentle smile and Iwaizumi finds it hard to distrust his words.

“It’s alright, Oikawa. You don’t have to—“

“Because sun is a million miles away, sometimes completely out of sight, but it never stops supporting the plant as it grows.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes against Oikawa’s words. He rests his open palms on the table in defeat. His cheeks feel hot, his entire face is hot, even his high forehead is hot—

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s fingers sneak their way under Iwaizumi’s and intertwine with them hesitantly, as if they’re shy. Iwaizumi reads the gesture as _I’m sorry for_ _pushing you away, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for making you wait, I’m sorry but I had to write this section of my story on my own.  
_

Iwaizumi touches the back of Oikawa’s palm with his pinkie finger as if to say there’s nothing to forgive _, I’m glad you made it to the other side and invited me back in_.

“So, what’s next for _The Grand Mangaka_ Oikawa Tooru?” Iwaizumi inquires to lighten the mood. He doesn’t know what to do with his restless blood raging in his veins.

“I was thinking of drawing a tragedy for my next work,” Oikawa says, eyes bright with ideas.

“You can start with your hairstyle. It’s pretty tragic.”

“That’s mean, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa grins through his words. That’s when his voice cracks. He continues, in a whisper, as if he doesn’t want the fireflies overhead to hear him: “Can we talk about _it_ now?”

Iwaizumi replies: “Yes.” As simple as that.

Oikawa gives a weak nod and his bottom lip quivers. His chin turns into an ugly wrinkle. He presses the heel of his palm to his eye but that doesn’t stop tears from spilling.

Iwaizumi fastens his hold on Oikawa’s fingers, and stays, fireflies are his witnesses.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
